And the clock struck twelve
by LeanaM
Summary: Professor Draco Malfoy doesn't like Christmas. At all. It doesn't help that he's spending the holidays at the most Christmassy place on earth - Hogwarts. But twelve conversations and a stubborn, bushy-haired and irritatingly pretty know-it-all may well change his mind... Fluff. Drabble-style.
1. One

**_This is a little Christmas Dramione drabble series. Some fluff and holiday cheer to make these dreary December days a bit happier. I'll update every other day. There are twelve parts._**

* * *

 _One_

Draco Malfoy watched his seventh year NEWT students walk out of the Potions classroom. They were talking excitedly, happy they had finally finished their last class before the Christmas holidays. Tomorrow, they would board the Hogwarts express and spend the next three weeks with their families. His lips twisted in a sneer as the last student closed the door behind him. Envy, anger and resentment flared through him, and he took a deep breath trying to suppress those feelings.

Draco knew, knew his behaviour was unprofessional, but he couldn't stop himself. He became uncharacteristically snappy at his students, impatient and frustrated, as soon as the first fir tree appeared in the Great Hall. Draco hated Christmas.

He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes and sighed. He had been especially terse today, and unfairly so. With a lazy flick of his wand, he gave back all the points he had taken, then he started to clean up his classroom.

* * *

Draco hardly noticed the stampede of students leaving for the holidays, since he had more or less locked himself into his quarters, trying to distract himself with Potions research. He knew full well he was in a foul mood and so the easiest thing to do was to avoid company altogether. He had the house elves bring him food in his rooms, and only ventured out about once a day to go flying.

A few days before Christmas, with his mood on an all time low, he was hurrying through the halls towards the entry hall, his broom slung over his shoulder, when he literally ran into the Muggleborn bane of his existence. She almost toppled over from the impact and he reached out a hand to steady her.

He'd almost snapped at her, but stopped himself just in time. At the beginning of the year, McGonagall had told him in no uncertain terms she wouldn't stand for childish quarrels between her professors, and she expected him to behave maturely when Granger joined the staff as the new Transfigurations professor. So he bit the inside of his cheek hard, and then said, coolly, "My apologies, Professor Granger, I didn't see you."

"Well, if you weren't running around like a madman, Malfoy, perhaps you wouldn't be…" she huffed, then stopped. It was funny to see her eyes widen as she realised he hadn't insulted her or blamed her for the incident, in fact, he had apologised. Draco smirked, nodded and continued towards the entrance hall.

For some reason, the smirk didn't leave his face all day.


	2. Two

_Two_

The next day, he met her again, in the entrance hall this time. She was all wrapped up in a woolen cloak, a motley collection of scarves and bonnet. He had planned to only nod at her in passing, but she grabbed his arm and stopped his quick steps.

"Malfoy, wait."

Draco turned towards her. Her hand felt warm on his arm, as if he could feel it through the many layers he was wrapped up in.

"What can I do for you, Professor Granger?"

Granger fidgeted, biting her lower lip. Then she let out a huff, and said, "Malfoy, I'm sorry, I was rude yesterday."

"Why thank you, Professor Granger, but an apology was quite unnecessary. I can assure you I didn't lose any sleep over our conversation yesterday."

She wrinkled her nose in annoyance. "Well, all the same, I am sorry."

"Was that all, Professor Granger?" He tried to sound bored to hide his impatience. He wanted to go flying, get away from Granger and this obligation to be civil when he was in a mood to hex anyone in sight.

Granger frowned at him, then shrugged.

"Where are you going?"

"Quidditch pitch," he said shortly.

"Mind if I walk with you? I'm going to visit Hagrid, that's on the way."

He closed his eyes and ran his free hand over his face in an exasperated gesture.

"If you insist, Professor Granger," he said.

They were quiet as they made their way out of the courtyard. The grounds were covered in snow. There was no discernable path towards the Quidditch pitch or Hagrid's hut, but they trudged on regardless. Then, for some reason, Granger seemed to want to talk.

"I never thought of you as a teacher, you know. How do you like it?"

Draco scowled. "Smalltalk, Professor Granger?"

To his surprise, she chuckled. "Yes, Malfoy. Trying to make conversation, and all that. It's the polite thing to do, I believe."

He was quiet for a few steps, then shrugged, swinging his broom to his other shoulder.

"I always enjoyed Potions. As for the teaching, well… It wasn't always easy, but I think I've found my footing. I enjoy it. To see a student manage to brew a new potion… It's a joy. I never thought, when I first started, I would feel like this, but it's just amazing to see them develop and grow. To see the light in their eyes when they finally understand one of the theorema. To see their proud smiles when they finish a potion correctly. It's great." He broke off suddenly, wondering why he was saying so much. He didn't look at her. They had stopped, having arrived at the junction that would take her towards the groundskeeper's hut, and him towards the pitch.

"But why did you take it up?" she asked. He licked his lips, stalling for time as he looked down at her. There was genuine curiosity in her eyes.

"I wanted to give something back to society. I was cleared by the Wizengamot but it didn't clear my own conscience. Now I feel like I'm doing something useful for the Wizarding world. And… for Severus. For what he did for me." He didn't elaborate and she didn't ask. She only nodded, then smiled.

"See you later, Malfoy."

She walked off towards Hagrid's hut, trudging through the knee-high snow, and he walked on towards the pitch, playing with the snitch in his pocket and wondering why he had told her the truth.


	3. Three

_Three_

He didn't expect to see her again that day, but when he caught the Snitch for the sixth time, he heard someone clapping. Looking down at the Quidditch stands, he saw her, looking up at him and waving. He flew down and landed next to her.

"What brings you here, Professor Granger?"

"You really are a good flyer," she commented, ignoring his question.

He decided not to take offense at the comment, and merely thanked her as he flopped down on the seat next to her. He waited in silence until she spoke next. It didn't take her very long.

"So why are you here over the holidays?"

"Why are you?" he snapped, his good mood suddenly evaporating. She looked at him in surprise, took in his lips, set in a thin line, his eyes dark and cool, and the tension in his shoulders.

"I'm sorry, it's none of my business."

He didn't respond. She took a deep breath. "I'm here because I have nowhere else to go and I didn't want to spend Christmas alone. Ron and I broke up a few months ago and it wasn't pretty. He's still angry. Harry is spending the holidays with the Weasleys, of course, and I wouldn't want to keep him from it, but… I just didn't want to be alone. So I stayed." She paused, swallowing.

Draco had turned back to her when she started speaking, and his sharp eyes noticed the tears she was fighting. Clearly the whole situation still hurt.

"I didn't realise everything here would remind me of them, you know. So many memories, good and bad. With the students gone, there's nothing but memories left. I've been hunting ghosts for days."

Draco let a couple of sarcastic comments run through his head before pushing them firmly away. He was an adult now, not a child, and somehow he couldn't relish in the pain of a woman he had seen nearly tortured to death in his own home. The thought made him shudder.

"You deserve better than the Weasel, you know," was what he finally said, although the words surprised himself.

She laughed. "Ron isn't so bad, but he just wasn't the one for me. We always fight, and I can't be what he wants. It's for the best, but he's having a hard time letting go. That's why it would be so awkward to spend Christmas at the Burrow, you know. It's not that they don't want to see me or I don't want to see them, it's just that Ron is their son and I'm… I'm just an ex."

Then she shrugged, and smiled at him. "Sorry, I shouldn't burden you with all this. I'm sure you're not interested in the least. I just… I don't know." Then she laughed again. "Imagine what our old school fellows would say if they saw us sitting here talking amiably."

Draco smirked. Then he coughed uncomfortably and looked away.

"I've stayed at Hogwarts every Christmas since I started working here. I have no friends to visit and my father didn't like my career choice so he's denied me access to the Manor until I come to my senses and marry a nice Pureblood girl to continue the family name." He scoffed. "He has the girl lined up, of course, all I have to do is say the word. But I don't want an arranged marriage, and I don't care about his threats of disowning me. What has he done but made my life a misery and bring shame to the Malfoy name? At least I'm trying to regain respect."

He felt a hand on his arm, and again marvelled at the heat of her touch that seemed to travel through layers of winter cloak and Quidditch jumpers.

"I think that's admirable, although I'm sorry you've lost your family over this. Now I understand why Minerva kept complaining about your foul moods in December."

He shrugged, still not looking at her but acutely aware of her presence at his side.

"I think it's time to get back to the castle, Professor Granger. It will be dark very soon, and I wouldn't mind a hot shower and a change of clothes after all that flying."

He wondered later if the flush on her cheeks was his imagination.

"Maybe you should start calling me Hermione," she offered, as they made their way down the Quidditch stands.

"Why?"

"Well, you always call me Professor Granger, it feels… distant. And maybe, you know, we should try to be friendly? Since we are both working here, and, you know, for the holidays. I mean, if you want to."

"You're rambling, Professor Granger," he said, amused.

She huffed and they continued their walk in silence. As they separated in the entrance hall, however, she stopped him.

"Will you be at dinner in the Great Hall tonight?" He hesitated, then answered without turning around, "Maybe. See you later… Hermione." He didn't wait to hear her own soft "Bye, Draco" before walking away.


	4. Four

_Four_

Draco didn't go to dinner in the Great Hall. He'd been ready to go down, almost made it to the door even, when an owl swooped in and delivered a letter. He knew he shouldn't have read it, but when he recognised his mother's handwriting, he felt a surge of hope. Maybe this year he could spend Christmas at home after all…

 _Dearest Son,_

 _I hope this letter finds you well. Your Father and I were very disappointed to receive your last. We had hoped that after all these years you would, at least, join us for Christmas again._

 _Your Father is working hard to restore the business and would welcome your help. He has nothing but the best in mind for our Family, my dear Draco. I hope you will, some day, see that._

 _Dahlia Greengrass visited yesterday with her daughters Daphne and Astoria. You know, I think, that Daphne is now engaged to Theodore Nott? They make such a handsome couple. It would make me so happy to know you were to settle down as well. Does family life not have any appeal? Astoria is such a pretty young woman, and so refined and elegant. I am certain that you would agree with me if only you met her again. She said she will be in Hogsmeade in January, perhaps you can make time in your busy schedule to have tea with her?_

 _I do hope you will change your mind and join us for Christmas dinner. We are hosting the greatest Yule event apart from the Ministry ball. It will be absolutely grand, just like the old days._

 _I miss you, my Son._

 _Love_

 _Mother_

Draco crumpled the letter into a ball and threw it in the fire. His mood had turned from faintly - disturbingly - happy to annoyed and irritated in a flash. Anger raced through his chest and knew he couldn't join the other teachers and students in the Great Hall.

Instead, he decided to vent his anger on his mother, and he threw a handful of Floo powder into his fireplace. The flames turned emerald green immediately.

"Malfoy Manor sitting room."

His mother looked up, surprised, when his head appeared in her fireplace, but she hid that expression quickly and put on a welcoming smile.

"Draco, darling, how lovely to see you. Why don't you come through?"

Draco ignored the invitation. "I just received your letter," he said, curtly.

"Oh. You didn't have to…" Narcissa began, frowning slightly in confusion.

"Until you and Father understand that I like teaching, that teaching is what I want to do with my life, and that I am not returning to marry some Pureblood girl of your choice to continue the family name, I am not setting one foot in this Manor. Do not write to me again. And tell Astoria Greengrass I most certainly do not have any time for her, no matter when she is in Hogsmeade. I have better things to do."

Narcissa Malfoy dropped to her knees in front of the fireplace, extending one hand but not quite touching his face in the flames. "Draco, you misunderstand…"

But Draco shook his head stubbornly. "No, I don't. You want me to come back and play the dutiful son. You want me to pretend this teaching lark was just a temporary thing, because it is too low to be considered a true profession for a Malfoy. You want me to continue to be the poster child of those preposterous ideas of blood superiority that led us into war and despair. I won't. I won't, Mother. I won't let anyone make any decisions for me again. Break off that contract with the Greengrasses because I will never consent. Let me marry whoever I want. Let me teach and tell your friends you're proud that I chose such a worthy profession instead of telling them with barely concealed disdain that I shall soon come to my senses. Let me live my life the way I want, or I will never return. And do not write to me again until you are prepared to do that. Just… just don't. It only hurts us both."

Draco suddenly felt deflated, all his anger gone. He closed his eyes and prepared to withdraw from the fire.

"You know I love you. No matter what, I love you," Narcissa said, trying to hide the tears in her eyes. "And so does your father. Give him some time. Please…"

But Draco only shook his head, the anger now completely gone. Instead, there was only resignation. "He's had five years. How much longer will he need? I won't wait, Mother. I will live, I may marry and have children. How much of that you will miss, is entirely up to you. I'm done." He paused, then repeated with a weary voice, to himself more than to anyone else, "I'm done."

He closed the Floo connection and sat down in front of the fire, his head on his knees. He'd never admit the stains on his robes came from the tears he couldn't stop from falling.


	5. Five

Draco took a deep breath before entering the Great Hall. It was almost empty, a handful of students scattered over the four House tables and two teachers sat on either end of the head table. Flitwick was reading the Prophet while absently stirring his coffee, and Granger, who had looked up when he entered the Great Hall, and then quickly looked down again, turned a page in the book she probably wasn't really reading.

"Morning, Filius," he muttered as he passed the man. Calling him by his first name still felt strange, even after almost four years. He hesitated but walked on to the other end of the table and sat down next to his other colleague.

"Good morning." He didn't actually look at her but reached for the toast rack and butter.

"Professor Malfoy."

He glanced sideways at her, but she didn't seem to have looked up from her book.

"Hogwarts, A History?" he asked.

She still didn't look up, but did answer, in a disinterested tone, "Yes."

He waited for her to elaborate but she seemed determined not to engage in conversation. Draco stirred three sugars into his tea and took a fortifying sip. He carefully placed the cup back on the saucer and stared at the toast on his plate.

"I'm sorry I didn't come to the Great Hall for dinner yesterday."

This time Hermione did look up. "I believe you said 'maybe'. Which in terms of probability means that something may happen or it may not, chances being roughly equal either side. I don't see why you should apologize." But her voice was cold and the set of her jaw betrayed how much she had really hoped he'd be there.

Draco still couldn't quite look at her. "I received a letter from my Mother last night. I was upset, so I didn't come down." He took a bite from his toast, which tasted like sand in his mouth. Just the memory of that evening left him feeling raw inside.

Hermione closed her book and turned towards him. "I see." He could feel she was scrutinizing him, but he still focused his eyes on his plate.

"Are you okay?" she asked, after a long silence. He shrugged and she nodded. "Maybe tonight then," she said, turning back to her own food. The silence between them didn't feel quite so awkward any more.

They both looked up when the doors opened and Neville came into the Great Hall, dressed in fir-green robes with red and gold trimmings and a pointed hat the shape of a fir tree on his head. He dusted the snow off his hands and came up to the head table, where he sat down next to Flitwick after grinning and waving at Hermione.

Draco looked at Hermione just as she was turning towards him. "Interesting robes Longbottom is wearing," Draco said, his lips twitching in amusement.

"He does love Christmas."

Draco nodded and added, with a grin, "Imagine the teachers had a holiday dress code. I'm sure I could pull off a miniature fir tree on my head." He adjusted the imaginary fir tree on his head and tried to look seriously at Hermione, who began to laugh.

"Oh sweet Godric, can you imagine McGonagall in a Christmas tartan with a Santa hat?" she chuckled. As it happened, the Headmistress chose that moment to walk into the hall, dressed in dark green robes and a green-and-red tartan shawl around her shoulders. Hermione reached out to squeeze his hand, hard, and Draco had to bite his lips to stop from laughing. Unfortunately, in an effort to look away from McGonagall, he turned towards Hermione, and they both burst out laughing as soon as their eyes met. They drew many curious stares from the other people in the room, but they were so lost in their laughter they barely noticed.

"Mind you," said Hermione, wiping the tears from her eyes, "I think the one person who would have taken it even further than Neville is Dumbledore. He loved that sort of thing." She turned to Draco, grinning, but her smile faltered when she noticed his white and horrified face. She realised her mistake at once, but it was too late. He pushed his chair backwards and strode out of the Great Hall without looking back, his shoulders stiff, his back ramrod straight, and his steps mechanic and wooden.


	6. Six

Draco pushed his broom as fast as it would go. The cold wind bit into his face and through his woollen winter cloak and myriad warming charms, and still he kept going. His eyes teared up so much he could barely see and he had lost all feeling in his fingers but he couldn't stop. Not when stopping meant thinking about one of the worst nights of his life. Not when stopping meant going back to the top of the Astronomy Tower and seeing Dumbledore fall. He flew circles around the Quidditch pitch until dusk made it impossible to distinguish the stands. Except… Except there was a light on one of them. He flew towards it, curious, happy to be distracted by whatever he would find, until he saw it was Hermione, sitting on one of the hard, snow-covered benches with a ball of light hovering above her.

He wanted to turn away but she called out to him. They were on the kind of footing now where he'd feel bad about being rude to her, so he landed carefully next to her and fell down onto the bench, not quite as elegantly as he'd have liked. His whole body was frozen.

"I'm sorry I upset you this morning."

Draco shrugged. How could he say it didn't matter when it did? He knew he'd dream of that terrible night when he closed his eyes. He knew he'd never escape that burden.

"I just… Will you tell me why it upsets you so much that I mentioned Dumbledore?"

He took a deep, shuddering breath and rubbed his hands together in an effort to make them thaw. She cast a warming charm on him without even asking, and for the first time since that morning he felt warm again. His fingers and toes tingled painfully, but her magic was soothing, like a hug after a nightmare. Maybe that was why he told her the truth.

"I had to kill him. The Dark Lord… He told me to kill Dumbledore or he'd kill my mother and me."

"I know."

His head snapped up, his incredulous eyes devouring the compassion and understanding on her face.

"You can't know… You can't know what it was like. I had to kill him and I couldn't. And then, that night… I was there, Hermione. I disarmed him. I couldn't kill him but I left him defenseless and then Severus had to…" He stopped and huddled into himself, the memory of Dumbledore begging, then falling over the edge of the Astronomy Tower too much to bear.

She moved to sit next to him and pulled him into an embrace.

"I should have done something," Draco murmured, not quite sure why his mouth wouldn't stop babbling. "I should have stopped Severus. I should have accepted his help. I should…"

"Draco, there was nothing you could do to save him," Hermione interrupted.

"But there was… I…"

"No. He was cursed. He was dying anyway."

Draco sat up straight and stared at her incredulously. "What?"

"I thought you knew, Draco. He was cursed. He had asked Snape to kill him. He knew all along you were assigned to kill him but he made Snape promise that he would do it instead. He was already weakened by the curse, and then by a poisonous potion he'd had to take that same evening… He would have died at Snape's hand, no matter what you did, Draco."

Draco didn't notice her arms were still around him. He looked dazed. "He knew?" he repeated, his voice detached. "It wasn't my fault?"

Hermione hesitated only for a moment. She thought of how Dumbledore had played with all their lives and tried to pull strings and steer their actions in the War.

"No. It wasn't your fault."

He began to cry.


	7. Seven

_Seven_

She wasn't at dinner that night. He pretended he didn't care and that the food tasted of anything but ashes and sand. He'd hoped to make amends for weeping all over her and using her cloak as an oversized hanky, but she wasn't there. He tried not to take it personally. He failed.

He stalked out of the Great Hall, face like thunder and robes fluttering in his wake. He wanted desperately to get to his room and his bottle of Firewhiskey.

"Ronald, honestly, how many times do I need to repeat myself?"

Her voice echoed through the entrance hall and brought Draco to an abrupt halt. He turned towards the noise and saw the Golden Trio reunited. But not really. Potter stood to the side, elaborately not engaging in the discussion between the other two. Weasley's face turned more and more red by the second, clashing horribly with his hair, and Hermione stood facing him, fists balled and an annoyed glare in her eyes.

"But Mum insisted…" Weasley was saying. "Just because we broke up doesn't mean you can no longer celebrate Christmas with us! Why would you stay here all alone?"

"Do you remember what it was like the last time I was at the Burrow? All these little digs at how sad she was I would not be her daughter-in-law, and how much she'd always wanted more daughters? How perfect we were as a couple? What a shame it was we broke up, and was I quite certain I shouldn't give it another chance?" Hermione uttered a frustrated sound and turned away from Weasley. She didn't seem to notice Draco, though. She simply took a few deep breaths and then turned back.

"Look, we both know it didn't work between us. And that's fine. We're still finding our way back to friendship, and I'm glad. But spending Christmas with your family is just… I just can't, Ron. It's too soon. Maybe next year."

Weasley's face lost some of its brilliant colour and he stepped up to her and enveloped her in a hug. "I wish we could have made it work," he muttered.

The sound carried across the empty hall to Draco, who wasn't quite sure what to make of the painful tightening of his chest at the scene.

"It is what it is." Hermione shrugged herself free from the hug. "We gave it a try, we had a good run, but it's time to move on. We both know that. We just need to wait until you bring another girl home so Molly can focus on her, and then I just become Hermione again, instead of the almost-daughter-in-law-she'll-never-have."

A wry smile appeared on Weasley's face.

"Can't say I didn't try." He glanced at his watch and turned to the hitherto quiet third of the Trio. "Harry, we should probably get going. It's almost eight."

The three said their goodbyes, but Draco didn't wait around. He quietly made his way up the stairs towards his rooms.

He had just made himself comfortable in front of the open fire, a book he wasn't going to read on one side and a bottle of Firewhiskey he was most definitely going to empty on the other, when a knock on his door almost made him drop his tumbler in surprise.

* * *

 _I want to thank everyone who has reviewed so far and who has started following this little series of drabbles. You're awesome! Thank you!_


	8. Eight

_Eight_

Hermione looked up at him, a little uncertainly.

"You were in the entrance hall just now."

It wasn't really a question so Draco figured he didn't need to answer.

"And then you were gone before I could talk to you. So I thought I'd come up here."

He still hadn't moved from his place in the doorway, one hand still on the door handle, the other gripping that tumbler of Firewhiskey he now wished he'd downed before opening the door.

"Can I come in?"

She looked so certain he'd say no, she had already started to turn away when he finally stepped out of the doorway, holding the door open for her. The relief on her face made his heart skip a beat.

"How have you been?" she asked, taking a seat on his sofa.

Draco offered her the Firewhiskey he so desperately wanted himself and poured another drink for him. He shrugged in answer to her question.

"Not sure what to say to that just yet. It was… It was a bit of a shock, to be honest. I haven't quite figured out what it means exactly."

Hermione nodded in understanding, sipped her Firewhiskey and pulled a face.

"I have wine somewhere, if you prefer that," Draco offered, but Hermione shook her head.

"It's just that first sip that always gets me. It's fine."

They sat in uncomfortable silence. Draco wondered why she had come, but wasn't sure how to ask that without sounding rude.

"You weren't at dinner tonight," he observed instead.

"Harry and Ron turned up unexpectedly and took me to Hogsmeade. It wasn't a totally happy reunion. Can I have some more of this?" She held out her glass and gestured towards the bottle. Draco obliged and sat down on the sofa next to her, the bottle placed on an end table within easy reach. Though he was burning with curiosity, he did not ask why the reunion had not been that happy. He hoped she'd tell him anyway, and he wasn't disappointed.

"It went alright at first, you know. I was happy to see them. They were happy to see me. We were walking towards Hogsmeade and I told them about working as a teacher and they told me about their Auror work, but that's when I noticed things had changed. They weren't that interested in my stories, and I didn't really care about them chasing Dark wizards to the middle of nowhere. And things got a bit strained from there on." She wiggled her glass to ask for another refill. Draco hesitated, but figured that in the worst case he could always give her some Hangover Potion before she left. He always had that ready. The amount of alcohol consumed by Hogwarts faculty would surprise even the most liberal minds.

"Then they started nagging about me spending the holidays with the Weasleys, and they just wouldn't let off, and it was so annoying. I just turned around and came back here. Never even got to eat." She sighed, downed the third refill and leaned back in the sofa. Her head came to rest on Draco's shoulder. Draco was suddenly surrounded by a cloud of roses and freesias. Some of her unruly hair tickled his cheek but he dared not move. She snuggled into him.

"I just didn't want to spend Christmas listening to Molly trying to pressure me into getting back with Ron."

"I see," Draco said in a slightly breathless voice. It was very difficult to relax when Hermione hugged his arm to her chest and let her nose rest against his collarbone. He tried desperately of something to say, but all his brain could focus on was Hermione pressing into his side. Until she spoke again.

"I'm sorry I made you cry today."

Draco drew a sharp breath.

"That's okay. I'm glad you told me about… about all that."

Hermione nodded against him, her hair tickling the underside of his jaw and the sensitive spot behind his ear. Goosebumps erupted all over his body.

"I like you," she said. "Don't wanna make you cry."

Draco blinked in surprise. The whiskey had clearly gone straight to her head, but wasn't there a Muggle saying about drunk minds and sober hearts? When her hand reached for the bottle of Firewhiskey, he stopped her.

"Maybe you should eat something before you drink any more," he said. She shrugged and turned in her seat, settling his arm around her shoulders and leaning her back against him. There was now even more hair that seemed to assault his face and neck. He still didn't mind.

"Too tired," she said. "Tiring day."

"Maybe sleep a little then," he suggested. He couldn't see her smile, but her body grew heavy against his and her breath became shallow. Draco leaned his head back and stared up at the ceiling. The scent of roses and freesias still surrounded him. He didn't ever want it to leave. That was disturbing.


	9. Nine

_Nine_

He'd woken up with a painfully stiff neck, one arm asleep and most of his body shivering with cold, except for the side Hermione had fallen asleep against. The side Hermione was still sleeping against. It had taken him all his patience to extract himself from her grasp, lay her down on the sofa and cover her with a quickly conjured blanket without waking her up. The cold shower he took did nothing to help his neck, but it did make him feel more or less presentable.

However, when she began to stir, he suddenly felt quite embarrassed at having fallen asleep with her in his arms. He left the room before she had fully woken up, but only after leaving a Hangover Potion on the table.

He hurried through the corridors, eager for some fresh air to clear his head.

"Draco, one moment, please."

The voice still made him feel as if he was about to lose some points for Slytherin, even though his student days were long behind him. He turned around with a polite smile.

"Minerva, what can I do for you?" It really was strange to address his former professors by their first name, but Minerva McGonagall insisted on it.

"I hope you feel better today? Hermione told me you had a spot of indigestion yesterday morning."

Draco blinked but managed to keep the confusion from his face. "I do feel better, thank you."

Minerva McGonagall continued walking and Draco fell into step next to her.

"I'm very pleased to see you and Hermione are getting along. I was a little worried at the start of this year."

Draco hoped any flush on his cheeks would be attributed to the cold wind that somehow seemed to find its way into the corridors of the castle.

"I hope I have outgrown the age of name-calling and petty House rivalries," he said, rather more sharply than he had intended. "Professor Granger and I are both adults and we have left the past behind us."

McGonagall eyed him curiously. He barely managed not to squirm under her gaze. Her lips turned into a small smile.

"I do hope you and Hermione will continue this amiable relationship after the holidays. I am well aware your interactions have been… strained, to say the least, up until now." Draco looked away and smirked. That certainly wasn't a request.

"It has come to my attention that though you have been teaching here, very successfully, too, for over five years, you are still on a temporary contract. If you like, I can make that permanent in January. Unless you prefer the flexibility of the temporary contract, of course. I just want to assure you that there will always be a place for you at Hogwarts. We haven't had such a good Potions professor since… Well, I daresay I can hardly remember. Severus was an excellent teacher, but his bias… Well, we needn't go into that. I have received nothing but rave reviews on your classes, and I should be very pleased to ensure you stay here."

Draco turned to her and stared in shock. One hand flew to his marked arm. The Mark had faded in the years since the War, but it was still there, itching, aching, reminding him of the stupidity of his youth.

"But… I… My past… People won't like..." he stammered.

McGonagall's eyes went to his marked arm, then back to his face.

"Your past is part of you. But it needn't limit your future any more than you want to allow. You are a great teacher, respected among faculty and students. I would be a fool not to try and trap you into staying here." Her eyes twinkled with mirth. "Take your time to consider the offer, Draco. Like I said, you may prefer not to be tied down."

They had reached the entrance hall. Draco turned to the Great Hall. He felt as though a weight had lifted from his chest.

"You seem to be bearing the holidays a little more cheerfully than the previous years. I'm glad to see that."

Draco was certain the blush on his cheeks had now spread to cover his entire face.

"I apologize for being such a spoilsport these last few years," he said.

"Nobody blames you, my dear boy," McGonagall said, placing a hand on his shoulder and squeezing comfortingly. The break with his parents was a public secret among the staff. Most of them had been present when his father's first Howler reached him. The motherly gesture made him a little uncomfortable, though.

She turned away before he could say anything.

"I shall expect to hear from you before the students return," she said over her shoulder.

Draco entered the Great Hall and walked, almost unseeing, to the Head Table. His mind was reeling. What a strange Christmas this was.


	10. Ten

_Ten_

"Thank you for the Hangover Potion."

Her voice, though soft, startled him and he looked up from his book. He'd thought that the Library would be the one place Hermione Granger would not look for a fellow Professor so he had commandeered a nook in the Divinity section. But apparently he had been mistaken. Not that he was avoiding her. Not at all.

"You're welcome." He wondered what else to say. He'd known this would be awkward, which is why he... _wasn't_ avoiding her. She didn't actually spend that much time in the Library because students would accost her at every turn. But, of course, most students were home for the holidays.

Hermione shifted nervously on her feet and bit her lower lip. "You were gone when I woke up this morning." There was a question, a vulnerability in her eyes that he could not quite ignore. He felt suddenly, inexplicably, guilty.

"I just woke up early. I wanted to let you sleep." It was the best excuse he could think of. And it was, at least, partially true.

She raised an eyebrow at him and he realised she might have been awake enough to hear the door close when he left. A slight blush rose on his cheeks and he pointedly looked back at the book. Until her hand pushed it down and he could no longer pretend to be reading. He looked up again. She was so close he could smell the freesias and roses from the night before. It stirred a most uncomfortable feeling low in his abdomen and he placed his book strategically in his lap.

"I know I got drunk last night and my memory is a little fuzzy but… I can't remember doing or saying anything embarrassing? Did I? Is that why you are so uncomfortable now?"

 _Curse those Gryffindors and their grab-the-Giant-Squid-by-its-tentacles mentality._

"You were very cute," Draco said, flushing bright red as soon as he realised what, exactly, had come out of his mouth. Admittedly, it wasn't the 'You cuddled up to me and you smell nice and so I had a most natural reaction to the close presence of a beautiful woman' he had decided not to say, but it was hardly any better.

Except… She smiled at him, the insecurity in her eyes melting like snow in the sun. She ducked her head, just for a moment, and then looked back at him.

"I take it you have no plans for tonight?" she asked.

He was thrown by the sudden change in subject and didn't have the presence of mind to consider the consequences of honesty.

"Christmas Eve dinner in the Great Hall, I imagine. Then meeting with Ogden's Finest in my rooms. Why?"

Her hand rested on his arm and he could feel the heat scorching his skin, his blood, his muscles, his bone. He licked his lips unconsciously, his eyes dipping to her smiling mouth and snapping up to his eyes again. The sparkle there suggested she might well have noticed that little lapse.

"Why don't you come to my rooms, we can celebrate Christmas Eve together? It'll be better than the forced fun in the Great Hall." She bit her lip again and tightened her hand on his arm. "Please?"

Draco's throat was suddenly dry and he swallowed with difficulty. This was a bad, bad idea.

"Of course, I'd be delighted," he said, before his common sense could intervene.

"Be there at seven?" She leaned closer, pressing a soft kiss on his cheek, just missing the corner of his mouth.

"Seven sounds good," he said, his voice gruff. He coughed, embarrassed, but she only smiled and winked, and then she was gone.

Draco stared at the book in his lap without seeing any of the words on the page. It was nearly dark when he suddenly realised he couldn't really turn up at Hermione's door for Christmas dinner with empty hands. He dropped the book unceremoniously on the floor in his haste to fetch his winter cloak and run to Hogsmeade for a last minute gift.


	11. Eleven

_Eleven_

Hogsmeade on Christmas Eve was an absolute nightmare. Busy streets, crowded shops, jostling and shoving at every step… _Damn the woman_. Draco looked around, conscious that he didn't have much time. Shops would be closing in about an hour. Books? But wouldn't everyone give her books? He didn't quite want to think about why he wanted his present to stand out. Chocolate or sweets? Or was that too easy? He could hardly get her a new robe, they weren't quite on that footing. Yet. ( _Where did that come from?_ ) Then his eye fell on Scrivenshaft's Quill shop and he elbowed his way through the throngs of last minute shoppers.

He'd almost made it when a hand fell heavily on his shoulder, and he turned around, wand at the ready, only to be faced by a smiling Neville Longbottom.

"Malfoy! Hadn't expected to see you here, today of all days."

Draco tried to suppress both his annoyance and surprise at the cordial greeting.

"Longbottom. Thought you were spending the holidays with the lovely Hannah?"

Neville grinned. "I am. But I got an owl from Dogweed and Deathcap, they have a new batch of Fanged Geraniums in store, so I thought I'd better go fetch them and settle them in my greenhouses before the holidays. These plants are very very sensitive this time of year."

Draco nodded in understanding. The plants would receive excellent care in the hands of the Herbology professor - probably better than if they stayed in the hands of the shopkeeper, who was known for his unrestrained love of Elven Wine.

"Not wearing your Christmas attire today?" he remarked, glancing up and down the dark woolen cloak. Neville grinned again, his cheeks slightly flushed.

"That was quite a view, I imagine. Came in to tend to my greenhouses straight from Luna's Yule celebration that morning. Quite forgotten I was still dressed up."

Draco thought with a slight shudder of the strange but fascinating Luna Lovegood, who had been kept prisoner in his house for months during that cursed year. She'd invited him to her Yule parties every year since then, but he couldn't quite stomach facing her.

"We missed both you and Hermione," Neville continued, his eyes turning a little more speculative as they studied Draco for a reaction.

"I've never accepted Lovegood's invitations. I can't imagine she was really expecting me."

Neville shrugged. "You know what Luna's like. Any idea why Hermione didn't make it?"

Draco straightened his back a little, his eyes turning dark with annoyance.

"No. Why would I?" His voice was sharper than it should have been. Neville's eyes widened a little in surprise, then narrowed again. Draco felt the man's scrutiny and only barely managed not to shift uncomfortably under the gaze.

"You two seem to be very close these days. I thought maybe she'd told you," Neville said, after a short pause. He hesitated again, as if wondering whether or not to say something. Then his jaw jutted forward with a resolute nod and he charged ahead.

"We've been working together for some years now, Malfoy, and I know you've changed since the war and you're a good teacher, and not quite half as bad a person as you make yourself out to be. And I will defend you from anyone calling you names for no reason."

Draco blinked, surprised, and wanted to interrupt, but Neville continued with a shake of the head. "But Hermione was my friend long before we were colleagues. And I don't know what, exactly, is going on between the two of you, but Malfoy, if you hurt her in any way, you will regret it." And with that parting shot, Neville Longbottom disappeared among the bustling crowds.

Draco was left standing in the street, snow seeping through his dragon-leather boots and his mouth open in surprise. _He_ wasn't even sure what was going on between Hermione and himself, but to have Neville Longbottom go all 'protective brother' over her was something quite unexpected. He shook his head and crossed the last few feet of snowy pavement that separated him from the quill shop.

Scrivenshaft's was relatively quiet, only a handful of customers browsing the available wares. Draco ignored the quills. He was quite certain Hermione would _not_ appreciate a Peacock Quill, self-refilling with rainbow ink, no matter how the sign insisted they really were 'The Perfect Gift for a Perfect Witch.' He made his way to the back of the shop, where a range of notebooks were on display. She seemed like a notebook person, somehow. He hesitantly reached out for one with a ruby-red cover decorated with elegant gold filigree, but then his eye caught something else, and he knew, instinctively, that it would be perfect.


	12. Twelve

_Twelve_

Hermione welcomed him with a smile and a kiss on his cheek, flushing when she spotted the present he was carrying under one arm.

"You didn't have to do that," she said, gesturing at the red-and-silver wrapped gift.

Draco grinned cheekily. "Oh. Well, I'll just take it back with me when I leave, then."

She took the bottle of wine he'd carried in his other hand and slapped his arm. "Don't be a prat."

"I'll just put it underneath your tree for the moment. Might as well serve as decoration while it's here."

Her rooms were decorated with what seemed to be all the leftovers from the Great Hall, a massive bow of holly over her fireplace, red, green and gold tinsel decorating the bookshelves that lined the walls, and a small tree, decorated in red and green, in a corner. He placed his present underneath the tree. Then he sat down on the sofa, with the an air of confidence he did not quite feel. He rubbed his clammy palms over his trousers and took a deep breath to steady his nerves while she poured two glasses of wine.

The conversation flowed quite easily between them after the first few sips of wine loosened him up, and it continued to flow through dinner and more drinks. She'd sat down on the sofa with him, but seemed to be getting closer every time she shifted. Somewhere between the turkey and the Christmas pudding, he'd quite lost track of what they were talking about, although he somehow managed to hold his side of the conversation. He'd become too distracted by her knee, covered by a wine-red velvet skirt, suddenly pressing against his.

Pressing quite insistently.

When her hands, never quite still in a conversation, suddenly clasped his arm while she emphasised a point in whatever story she was telling him, something in his brain seemed to spark and his magic started thrumming in his veins.

"Draco? You're not listening." She smiled nervously.

"I'm sorry. I was distracted." He tried desperately to regain his calm.

"What were you thinking of?" Her eyes gleamed with suppressed laughter as she leaned a little closer still. The scent of freesias and roses surrounded him and it became even more difficult to think straight.

 _I was thinking how beautiful you are tonight._

 _I was thinking that I really really want to kiss you._

 _I was hoping this moment never ends._

"Well, I was distracted by the silver of that present. I think it's time it went back to my rooms, since you didn't want it."

She jumped up with a gasp and had crossed the few feet between the sofa and the tree before he'd even realised she had let go of him. She held the present in her arms with a defiant look.

"It would be very rude not to accept your present," she said, raising an eyebrow in challenge.

Draco shifted in his seat until he felt a little more comfortable. He made a theatrical wave with one arm and inclined his head with an indulgent smile.

"Well, if you insist," he said, with mock-condescension.

She glared at him, then sat down in front of the tree and began unwrapping the present. Draco pressed his lips together and forgot to breathe, dread slowly choking him. It had been a bad idea. She loved books. He should have gotten her a book. Not this. Not…

"Oh Draco…" She smiled up at him, hugging it close. It was a black dragonhide satchel with a magnificent lion in gold embroidery stalking around the bottom, playfully swatting at her fingers where they held the leather.

He could feel his cheeks flush. "I'd noticed the strap of your bag kept breaking last term," he said, looking away. "I thought you'd like a new one. It came with a Featherlight Charm, so hopefully it will not suffer quite so much from all the books you always carry around."

"It's perfect," she said, getting up from the floor and walking back over to him. She sat down next to him, entwining her hand with his. "Thank you, Draco."

He forced himself to look at her and lost himself in her eyes, warm, brown eyes with golden flecks, surrounded by the finest of lashes. She smiled, her eyes dipping to his lips and back up to catch his gaze. He licked his lips and swallowed with difficulty.

"Hermione…"

At that moment, the little clock on the mantlepiece began to strike.

"It's midnight," she whispered as the last of the chimes faded into silence. "Merry Christmas, Draco."

Before he had a chance to respond, she leaned closer and pressed her lips against his. She kissed him, soft, teasing, insistent, sending sparks through his spine with sweet little licks and nips at his lower lip, until he opened up for her and their tongues met in a playful battle that left him breathless and wanting more. She kissed him. She _kissed_ him and it was like breathing for the first time after staying under water for too long. He never wanted it to stop.

They panted when they broke apart. He stared at her and stared at her, wanting to take in every detail, her lips, reddened and plump from their kiss, he eyes dark and sparkling with lust, her hair in disarray, soft and silky under his touch.

"Stay tonight," she breathed.

"Isn't that going a bit fast?" he asked, his mind finally catching up with his body. He didn't want to say no but he knew he should.

"We can talk about that tomorrow," she said, moving closer until she settled on his lap, her hands tracing lines over his robes, leaving trails of fire in their wake. His hands settled naturally at her waist and he marvelled at the feel of her, in his hands, inhis lap, fitting so perfectly she must have been made for him. It almost distracttd him from what she was saying. "We probably should take things slow, get to know each other, go on a few dates... But tonight, I want you. Tomorrow we'll think about what this means. Tonight..." She nipped at his ear and trailed kisses over his jaw and he forgot his objections and he forgot how to move, how to breathe, how to be, and it was brilliant.

"Sweet Morgana, I'll stay for however long you want me to," he whispered, more to himself than to her. But she heard anyway, cupped his face in her hands and beamed at him.

"That may well be for a very long time, Mr. Malfoy."

* * *

 **AN: Thanks for all the reviews, follows and favourites. Happy holidays, dear readers! I'll see you on the other side...**


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